Van Helsinki: This Night
by nototter
Summary: The other side of One Night.
1. Chapter 1

Van Helsinki walked slowly into the bar, checking his corners as he did. He knew he couldn't trust these 'informants' of his in the least. But necessity, and orders, had forced him to consult them. He needed to know what they knew, know the time schedules, when the gang enforcers would be at their most vulnerable. He needed to know what they knew. Van wished he had both arms functional, but his left would have to do. He brushed his arm, subtly, against the stock of the MAC-10 tucked down the back of his trousers. That would suffice in a pinch, he was sure.

Van exited the café, MAC still clutched in his hand. He still didn't know where the 'big cheese' was: the boss seemed to be keeping his whereabouts a secret from his own gang too. However, he did have a safehouse location. Van chucked the empty MAC into the trash. He awkwardly flipped out his phone from a side pocket, and called Ford.

"We're in. I've got a safehouse. Bring backup. And more guns." Van heard Ford's sigh of relief. "I told you, I've got it covered. My…'friends' weren't any trouble." Van shut the phone with a 'snap'.


	2. Chapter 2

As Van descended the stairs, he had no real thought other than to get out of sight of the rest of them, and swallow some more of the painkillers. His arm was throbbing badly, after the exertion of the shooting inside the apartment, and he didn't think he'd be getting any sleep anytime soon. As Van pulled open the door at the bottom of the stairs, his good hand was already ratching in his pocket for the box of pills. The last thing he expected when he opened the door was to see Albulka, the gang boss himself, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him. For a moment, both men froze, and simply stared. Then the boss turned and ran, and Van's hand went to flick back his coat. He pulled out a Colt revolver, compact size making it easy to draw, and got off a shot, clipping Albulka's fleeing figure as he ran down the stairs. The shot knocked the gangster sideways, but he was up and continued running down the stairs. Van gave chase, calling up to Ford.

"He's here! Albulka's here!" Then he was running down the stairs, away from the safehouse and out into the city night, with only his issued revolver and Ford at his back to protect him.


	3. Chapter 3

He'd gone to ground. Van knew it. He'd gone to ground. But they'd found him, at last. Cowering behind a set of boxes in one of the cheap garages in this part of the city. Van pointed his Colt revolver at the prone gang boss.

"It's over," said the detective, as Ford moved forward to put the cuffs on.


	4. Chapter 4

Van was just leaving the police station when he heard a crash behind him, and the rattle of automatic fire. Van looked about. He was alone, Ford having stayed to do some paperwork. Van turned and ran back into the building, ignoring his arm's agony of protest. He hurtled through the double doors he'd exited just a minute or so earlier, and then went left. Ahead of him, round the next bend, Van saw an unfamiliar figure holding, of all things, an AK-47. The man half-turned, hut Van's breakneck pace was enough to ensure that when the two collided, Van had the upper hand. He slammed the goon into a wall, and then smacked his head downwards. Van used to opening this gave to grab the AK with his good hand, and use the strap to throttle the man holding it. The enemy struggled, but Van's fury made him relentless, and it did not take long before there was an audible 'crack' and the foe fell. Van pulled up the AK-47, and then moved into the building, looking for Ford.


	5. Chapter 5

He'd left six dead bodies on the grounds of the police station, six of Albulka's men to add to the four he'd killed at the safehouse. And yet somehow Albulka himself had been sprung from captivity. Somehow he'd escaped. Van thought he'd probably flee overseas. Perhaps one day there would be a reckoning. For now, all he was left with was a pile of bodies and another failure. As ever, he'd done all he could. But his heart was cold. No amount of loving would warm it this night.


End file.
